CHAPTER XIII
Howard Benton’s wait for his father had been as futile as it was long. At first he had sat slumped in a chair grumpily, watching the door impatiently for each new arrival, his whole attention given to this new emotion of his, this wakening to duty and his new sense of responsibility toward his sister. Where in the world could his dad be? He ought to be there right then listening to what he, Howard, had to divulge. No telling what Elinor was doing by now! She was such a silly—such a headstrong——
The clap of Woods Thorndyke’s hand on his shoulder in no light fashion awakened him from his reverie.
“Come out of it, old top!” exclaimed the newcomer cheerily. “What’s on the youngster’s mind? Come on up to the card room. One of the chaps has some of his dad’s best private stock and you’ll just fit in for a rubber!”
Howard shook his head.
“No, thanks, Thorn, old boy,” he declared, “no time for cards to-night—got an engagement—with my own dad!”
“Oh, come on,” urged the other, “you can get your call down any old time, and a nice little game—one rubber——”
But the Benton heir was firm about one thing. His head shake was more decided than ever.
“No—nary a rub—” he declared with positiveness, “but,” and he wavered a little as he eyed his companion. Really, he began to feel sorry for himself. What right did Elinor have to get him all wrought up like this. He felt that by now he needed, most likely deserved, a drink. “But,” he went on brightening a little, “I believe I could use a little shot or so!”
And one or two in that congenial company of his boon companions led to more and more, until by two o’clock he had quite forgotten all about Elinor, forgotten many things, in fact, save his determination not to enter a card game which might last interminable hours. Somewhere in his hazy consciousness it was borne in on him that he had an important engagement with his father, but he could not just think what it was about.
He made a trip to the smoking room and learned that his father had neither been seen nor heard from. Oh, well, whatever it was he was going to talk to dad about would have to wait. He was tired; he was going home.
He started for the hat room. Just outside the door two chaps were talking. Both of them he knew well, but the “Hello” he had almost hurled at them was frozen on his lips at a name he heard. In a twinkling the haziness disappeared. He knew why he had been waiting. He stepped back into the shadow of a potted palm and listened without compunction.
“Elinor Benton!” was the exclamation he heard. “You can’t be serious. She’d never fall for that fourflusher, Druid.”
“But I tell you they’re everywhere together,” the other replied. “I meet them driving in the park nearly every day, she at the wheel, and often his arm about her. I’ve seen them coming out of inns and roadhouses, rather questionable ones too—if you’ll take it from me. I’m surprised her people stand for it.”
“Perhaps they don’t know anything about it, and if they do, they may look upon it as a harmless flirtation.”
“Harmless flirtation!” The man laughed. “Knowing Druid as well as you do, I can’t see how you could ever imagine a flirtation with him harmless.”
“Oh—well then,” came the answer, “maybe he intends to marry her. He could do a lot worse, you know, than to fall in for some of the Benton money.”
“I agree with you, and no doubt he does too, but I know it will take some time before he is free. His wife is suing him for divorce now.”
“What!” the other exclaimed. “I never knew he had a wife.”
“It isn’t generally known for business reasons. Those theater chappies consider him a more profitable investment unmarried. I happen to know, though, that he married a little chorus girl about six years ago somewhere in the Middle West.”
“Where is she now?”
“They couldn’t get along together, so,”—and outspread hands finished the sentence. “She’s out on the Coast now, working in pictures, and is interested in someone else—hence, the divorce proceedings.”
Howard stepped forth from his place of concealment. His eyes blazed like coals of fire in his gray face.
“Benton!” came the disturbed exclamation.
“ ’Sall right, boys.” He smiled feebly. “You didn’t know I was there.”
“Oh—I’m sorry, Benton,” Frank Crimmins assured him earnestly as he stepped forward. “I feel like a silly gossiping woman. Please don’t pay any attention to what I’ve said.”
“On the contrary, I think you’ve done me a service. You see, I hadn’t any idea that Druid was a married man.”
“Didn’t you know that he has been rather friendly with your sister?”
“The news of his friendship for my sister has come to me only to-night through three different sources. Now, I am going to get it directly from his own lips,” he announced ominously.
Crimmins endeavored to restrain him: “Wait a minute, Benton, don’t make a fool of yourself! You’re not in a condition to see anyone right now—wait until to-morrow.”
“I’m going now.” He brushed aside the friendly detaining hand and demanded his things from the coat-boy. “I’ll show him that he can’t juggle with my sister’s reputation and get away with it.”
“The hot-headed young idiot,” Crimmins said, as Howard rushed from the club. “I suppose he’ll go up to Druid’s and attempt to mop up the place with him.”
“Feel sorry for him if he does,” the other replied with a meaning grin. “He’ll get the worst of it—Druid’s some athlete.”
Crimmins was still conscience-stricken. “Perhaps we should have gone with him?” he suggested.
“Nonsense! Take my advice and always keep out of other people’s quarrels. Come on, have another ball, and then I’m going to turn in.”
It was mid-night when Elinor Benton arrived at Templeton Druid’s studio apartment—a delightful hour, she thought, shivering deliciously, to be arriving anywhere, and unaccompanied. Since she had made her début, it was not at all unusual for her to be dancing in the small hours and twelve o’clock usually saw the top of the excitement. But always she had conventionally arrived at dance or reception or whatever gayety along with those of all her set at much more seasonable hours. Templeton and all his friends were so excitingly different. But still when she had thrown aside her ermine wrap with the solicitous aid of her hero himself, who did not neglect to give her arm an affectionate squeeze, she found herself, among the bizarre appointments of the actor’s home—and his astonishingly elated and at ease guests, a bit diffident and shy. But not for long. For an ingénue, Elinor Benton found she was able with great ease to adapt herself to the unfamiliar atmosphere. Perhaps it may have been something in the weird lighting effects; perhaps the subtle perfume of the Orient that rose in hazy fumes from swinging censers, the dim reflection of the lighted sconces on mirrors that made the restless guests seem figures in a pageant and far off, with eerie faces that so effectually drowned her diffidence and made her senses whirl with abandon like the fumes of a heady wine. Or maybe it was the possessive, lover-like attitude of Templeton Druid himself that bade her throw aside stilted convention and become one of those with whom her hero surrounded himself. However, it may have been, Elinor Benton, débutante, at the end of ten minutes of her first visit to Templeton Druid’s apartments might have been long a woman of the world, the stage world, which, until the time of his opportune recognition by Geraldine DeLacy had been the man’s only world.
Introductions, had she but known it, were of no account in that assemblage, but Templeton Druid remembering her social training, did not dispense with them with his favored guest. To each, as he made the circle of the long studio room, he introduced her as “his dearest little friend”—not forgetting to add that she was the daughter of Hugh Benton, the financier.
Another round of cocktails was served. The somewhat blasé guests took heart. Dinner was announced, and the fun began to wage fast and furious. Elinor was enjoying every minute of it. Here was a party worth while, she thought. What a wonderful crowd of whole-hearted, happy-go-lucky people. And she would soon be one of them—after she and Templeton were married! She would give all sorts of dinners and parties, and invite this same crowd of charming, congenial people.
As befitted the most honored guest, she was seated next to her host at the table. At first he was discreetness personified in all his actions toward her. But as the dinner progressed and he imbibed more and more freely of the various wines the possession of which only he could have explained, he threw all caution to the winds. Openly he avowed his passion for her.
“I’m mad about you, darling,” he whispered, bending his head close to her ear. “Each time I see you, I want you more and more for my very own.”
Elinor listened with shining eyes.
“I’m glad to hear you say that, dear,” she nodded, “because there’s something I want to talk to you about. The most disagreeable thing has happened at home and——”
“Won’t have you telling me disagreeable things on—my birthday.” He hiccoughed slightly. “Going to stop that pretty little mouth with kisses.” And disregarding guests, appearances, he grabbed her to him to carry out his threat.
“Please—please, Templeton.” She struggled to free herself, her face suffused with blushes. “Let me go! You embarrass me dreadfully! Don’t you see everyone is looking at you.”
“Let ’em look. What do I care? You’re my little girl—I love you, and I’m proud of it! So there—and there!” He caught the struggling girl with one arm, swung her from her chair, as he emphasized his words with fervent caresses.
With face suffused with scarlet, Elinor Benton drew herself from the arms of the man who had so publicly declared himself her lover. But as she glanced at Druid’s other guests, in full expectation of an embarrassing few moments, she was as much bewildered as surprised to see that the episode had passed unnoticed. Each was too intent on his or her own affairs. A small stream of wine flowed redly across the white cloth from its shattered goblet that had been overturned as Marie Shaw, a Follies girl, had over-reached herself in her attempt to bombard Giles Fellowes, her own pet press agent, who sat across the table with the centerpiece of orchids which now trailed, a bedraggled mess half down to the floor. Teddy Martin, a composer, who himself admitted he was a popular one, wanted to show off his latest hit. He tipped over his chair in his eagerness to reach the piano.
Harold Westley, handsome as a screen actor should be, danced over to Elinor and pulled her away from Templeton Druid.
“Come on,” he urged. “Teddy’s giving us a fox trot,” then, as Druid put out an unsteady protesting hand, he laughed at him: “Needn’t think, just because you’re one of those ‘appears, personally, himself’s’ that you can monopolize Miss Benton the whole evening!”
Before she realized it, Elinor felt herself whirled away in the movie actor’s arms.
“Some party—I’ll say,” he drawled. “Having a good time?”
“Wonderful,” she answered. “I’ve never been to anything like this before—it’s so different.”
“How do you mean—different?”
“Well, for one thing, it’s so free from restraint of any kind. Everyone does just as he pleases, and no one seems to think anything about it.”
He laughed heartily. “If you think this is free from restraint, you should have been here at the party Templeton gave a week ago! We had some night of it.”
“I—I know—” she stammered, trying to conceal her confusion, her heart thumping madly. “I couldn’t come that night on account of a previous engagement.”
“You missed one great time—but never mind,” he reassured her, “the night’s young yet, and you can’t tell how this will wind up—although there doesn’t begin to be the number of pretty babies that were here the other night. Why you’re by far the one best bet in the room to-night,” and he attempted to hold her closer. But at this all the girl’s training rebelled. It was one thing for Templeton to—she was engaged to him—but for this unknown actor——
“I can’t dance any more—I’m tired, and I believe the wine has gone to my head,” she said weakly. She was angry, too, at what he had told her about Templeton.
“Sit here,” Westley said, leading her to a large chair in the corner, “and I’ll bring you some black coffee—that’ll fix you up all right.”
As soon as he was out of sight, she looked around for Druid. As she caught his eye, she beckoned for him to come to her.
“Well, sweetness—did you have a nice dance?” he inquired, sitting on the arm of her chair. But she pushed him away from her, and faced him.
“You had a party here last week,” she accused him furiously, “and there were a lot of girls present.”
“Well—well—well! Who’s been telling you the news?”
Marjorie Benton (Mary Alden) refuses to allow her daughter (Norma Shearer) to attend a roof-garden review.(“The Valley of Content” screened as “Pleasure Mad.”)
Marjorie Benton (Mary Alden) refuses to allow her daughter (Norma Shearer) to attend a roof-garden review.(“The Valley of Content” screened as “Pleasure Mad.”)
“Never mind who’s been telling me! I know it—that’s enough! I—I thought you were absolutely true to me, and now—you’ve broken my heart.” Her wail ended in a sob.
“Come now, Elinor, don’t be foolish and create a scene.” He looked around uneasily. The laugh would be on him if the bunch— “You know I love you, darling,” he added quickly, insinuatingly. “There isn’t another woman in the world who means anything to me.”
“Oh—if I could only believe you!” But the sobs still came. “I love you so! I’m insanely jealous of your every thought. When I think of you day after day—thrown in contact with so many beautiful and clever women, I am filled with the fear of someone coming between us—I couldn’t bear it now—I couldn’t, dear!”
“Listen to me, darling,” he whispered, gently drying her eyes with his daintly-perfumed handkerchief. “I love you and only you! Please remember that, and when you are my little wife——”
“When will that be, dear?” She looked up through her tears to ask anxiously.
“Soon—very soon—my own,” he murmured. Forgetting the hilarious, laughing merry-makers around her, conscious only of one thing—that she loved this man and wanted his comfort and assurance, Elinor Benton let him draw her into his arms, hold her close.
She clung to him passionately; his kisses she returned with wild abandon. Unnoticed, the pins slipped from her hair and it hung about her like a shower of gold, as she nestled in his arms.
There was a commotion at the door as someone swept by the valet and pulled aside the portieres. Elinor and Templeton looked up simultaneously.
Standing in the doorway, wild-eyed and white as death was Howard Benton!
By the time Howard had reached Druid’s apartments, he was seeing red. He refused to allow the hallboy to announce him. He was expected, he said. When Druid’s valet opened the door, he thrust him aside and made straight for the living room. It was the valet’s attempt to restrain him, and Howard’s persistency that caused the commotion that brought Elinor and Templeton Druid from their trance, caused them at glance upward to see him standing in the doorway.
“Howard!” Elinor could only gasp weakly.
“Hello, Howard,” Druid put Elinor out of his arms, and came forward, struggling to gain his self-control. “This is a surprise. Did you drop in to wish me a happy birthday?” He held out his hand.
“No—damn you!” gritted the boy, as he brushed aside Druid’s hand. His lips drew back from his teeth in animal-like passion. “No! I came here to demand an explanation of you! And I’m—going—to—have—it!”
CHAPTER XIV
In the sudden hush that spread through the room, only the stertorous breathing of the angry young man who faced Templeton Druid could be heard. For just a moment after Howard spoke, Teddy Martin, at the piano, jangled out a bit of jazz, but it had the hollow sound that a popular song might have at a funeral. He whirled about on the piano bench as much astonished at the peculiar quiet as a man in different environment might have been had a bomb exploded at his feet. Marie Shaw stopped stock still, stunned into actual quietude for once, with skirt still uplifted in her unfinished pirouette.
Gradually, unconsciously, Druid’s guests closed in about the two belligerent men to form a half circle. In the tenseness, each waited with bated breath for what next might happen. Howard Benton’s attitude was unmistakable. He meant trouble.
Elinor was the first to gain control of herself. She ran to her brother and grabbed him by the arm.
“Howard!” she shrieked, vixenishly. “How dare you come in here like this! You’re drunk! Go home at once! You wait until Dad hears of this——”
“You shut up!” He pushed her roughly aside. “You’re a fine one to tell me I’m drunk! Look at you, with your hair hanging around you, and your clothes almost falling off—God!” He buried his face in his hands. “I never thought I should find my sister like this!”
Teddy Martin came forward quickly. “See here, Benton, you don’t know what you’re talking about. This is Druid’s birthday, and we’re having a little party. There isn’t a thing wrong——”
“You can’t make a fool of me!” he answered hotly. “Didn’t I see her in his arms when I came in?”
“Well, supposing you did,” Druid interrupted. “At an informal party like this, we don’t stand on ceremony. This doesn’t happen to be one of your—society functions,” with deep sarcasm.
“Put on your things at once.” Howard turned commandingly to Elinor. “I’ll send you home in a taxi and then I’ll come back and settle with him.”
“But what if I don’t feel like going home?” Elinor faced him furiously. “You’ve got your nerve to think you can humiliate me like this in front of my friends.”
“Friends?” Howard sneered. “And I suppose this man,” pointing to Templeton and trembling as a man with ague, so eager was he to fasten his hands on the actor’s throat, “is your friend too?”
Elinor Benton drew herself up with all the dignity inherited from a haughty parentage. She looked at her brother, squarely, then defiantly about the half circle of watching silent people.
“He’smorethan my friend,” Elinor announced haughtily, but with a touch of pride. “He is—my affianced husband!”
Living on sensation as most of her hearers did, proof against surprises in usual matters, still the simply-worded announcement of Elinor Benton was sufficient to cause jaws to drop, to cause glances to dart from one to the other at a statement that, to say the least, to most of them was startling. Then those glances came back to settle on the face of Templeton Druid—the glances of these people who knew him. What they saw was that his suave countenance had turned scarlet, and that his eyes wavered unsteadily as he, too, glanced stealthily around the room.
“How wonderfully interesting!” Howard’s sarcastic laugh rang out, “but don’t you think it would have been proper and more gentlemanly for him to have waited until he had disposed of his present wife before honoring you with his proposal?”
“His wife!” Elinor turned ghastly. “It isn’t true! Tell him it isn’t true—Templeton?”
“Just look at him!” Howard blazed. “You can read his answer in his face.”
“Well, I told you there was a matter of great importance I had to settle—before I could marry you—didn’t I?” Druid turned to Elinor almost fiercely.
“Yes—but a—wife—a wife!” Once more her wail turned to sobs, as her slender body was shaken in a gale of emotion, of chagrin.
Howard took a menacing step nearer Druid.
“You’ve played fast and loose with my sister’s affections in order to feed your disgusting vanity,” he began, chokingly. “You will——”
“Now you get out of here—you and your sister!” All of Druid’s polish dropped from him like a cloak. “I’ve taken about all I care to stand from you. If you think, for a moment, that you can come into my home and insult me in front of my guests, you’re mistaken! Your sister isn’t a baby—she’s capable of taking care of herself. In fact, I think she knows considerably more than you think.” He was sneeringly insinuating.
“You—you cad!” Unable further to hold himself in check, Howard sprang forward. “I’m going to give you the beating you so justly deserve.”
Westley took a step forward and turned aside the angry boy’s arm.
“Steady there, Benton,” Druid’s eyes flashed fire. “If you start anything with me, you’ll find more than you bargained for! You’re not my match in strength, and I don’t like to take advantage of a boy!”
With only the memory of Druid’s words to “get out,—you and your sister” ringing in her ears, and hurt unbelievably that they should have come from the man who but a moment before was softly voicing undying devotion to her, Elinor Benton attempted to interfere, to put an end to the sordid scene. She put her hand on Howard’s arm which he was still waving threateningly.
“Come on, Howard. Mr.—Mr. Druid is right. We have created enough disturbance here. I—I’m ready to go home with you,” she said with dignity.
“You—keep out of this!” Howard shook off her hand. His eyes blazed fire as he advanced on his enemy. “So I’m a boy, am I?” he sneered. “Well at least, I’m not acowardand I don’t make play-things of women.”
“Get out!” Druid thundered.
Howard’s answer was to pull off his coat, fling it on the floor and lunge forward with closed fists. Elinor screamed hysterically and fled to the corner of the room, covering her eyes with both trembling hands.
But Druid was not caught off his defense. He caught Howard’s fists in his hands and there was a triumphant light in his eyes as he hissed between closed teeth: “Very well, you damned fool! If you’re bound on fighting, I’ll give you a thrashing you’ll not forget in a hurry.”
Men guests, less befuddled, sprang forward protestingly, but he waved them back dramatically, as he pulled off his coat.
“All of you keep out of this. My patience has been tried beyond all endurance, and this child,” he paused just the right length of time for his dramatic taunt, “must be taught a lesson!” The sneer accompanying the words curled back his lips over the perfect teeth.
It only took Druid a few seconds to discover that he was up against anything but a novice. Howard had taken a special course of pugilistic training besides being a born athlete. In college he had carried off first honors in every contest. Druid was no mean athlete himself and not loth to exploit his prowess, but he depended too much on brute strength, a strength his evening’s debauch had much weakened. He found himself no match for Howard’s cleverness—taught him by one of the most scientific men in the ring.
Templeton Druid was getting the worst of it. That was plain. He had been down twice and was terribly groggy. Both men were bleeding profusely and indiscriminately over the room which looked as if a cyclone had struck it.
A half stifled, hysterical shriek at some telling bloody blow from one of the women, a groan, or muffled mumble of admiration from the men guests who were watching as eagerly as at any mill in the padded ring was all that could be heard above the labored breathing of the battlers, save the steady hysterical sobbing of Elinor Benton from her corner. Rugs were torn up, furniture overturned, priceless bric-a-brac fell with a crash that added to the general ensemble; the grinning Buddha toppled from his pedestal and crashed into a thousand pieces, his grin alone looking up from the floor in the midst of his shattered features.
Templeton Druid dropped to the floor with finality. Men sprang forward, thinking it was the end, when slowly he began to pull himself up again. His hand went to his hip-pocket, and he pulled forth a small revolver. Howard saw it at the moment its shine appeared and leapt for it.
A struggle—more furious than ever for a moment. A shot rang out.
Templeton Druid staggered, threw his hands in the air, and fell, face downward on the torn, blood-stained Persian rug.
Howard Benton stood over the crumpled figure on the rug with the shining revolver in his hand. He looked at it half understandingly, as though it were a strange thing he had never seen before—that he could not recognize. Then it dropped from his nerveless fingers with a clatter among the pieces of the broken Buddha. His eyes shifted aimlessly about, to fix themselves once more on the huddled figure at his feet.
“My God!” he gasped. “I’ve killed him!”
In the speechless pause, Elinor Benton’s shrieks rent the air wildly. She staggered from her corner, throwing aside hands that with kindly intent sought to restrain her, to fall prone on the still form on the floor, her gown drinking in the crimson that flowed out darkly across the polished floor.
“Oh, my darling! Speak to me!” she moaned and pleaded. “I don’t care for anyone in the world! I love you! Oh—speak to me! Speak to me!”
The quiet that had reigned during the encounter became turmoil. Trembling, wild-eyed, Druid’s valet’s white face appeared at the door. Westley rushed to him.
“Is there a doctor in the building?” he howled.
The man’s teeth chattered as his shuddering glance took in the scene.
“Yes, sir,” he stuttered. “On the ground floor.”
“Get him!” commanded the movie actor.
Women rushed to get wraps, looking about with anxious eyes for the opportunity of making cautious exits. Only Elinor Benton seemed not to think of escape as she wept over the still figure of the man on the floor. But that escape was out of the question was obvious in but a moment when the apartment began to fill with excited, curious tenants who had heard the shot and crowded forward morbidly to see what was going on.
Orders, suggestions, flew backward and forward. Apparently the only calm person in the apartment was Howard Benton. He had walked unseeingly to a bench at one side of the room and dropped on it. He was too stunned to speak. Attempts to speak to him were met with a dazed incomprehension.
Teddy Martin touched him on the shoulder and offered: “I’m sorry, Benton. Is there anything I can do for you?”
The not unkindly touch helped to bring him out of himself.
“Is he—is he—dead—or only wounded?” he asked quietly.
“We don’t know yet,” Martin answered. “The doctor will be here in a minute, and then we will find out. Here he is now.”
Doctor Adams looked on in surprise while one of the girls pulled Elinor away from Druid, trying to make the hysterical girl understand that the doctor had arrived.
“What’s happened here?” the medical man inquired brusquely.
Harold Westley stepped forward. “Two men had a quarrel,” he informed, “and one of them was shot—accidentally.”
“Humph! Looks more like a free-for-all fight,” the doctor answered, glancing around the room. He bent over the still form; turned him over. His examination lasted but a few seconds.
“Dead,” he announced solemnly. “A clean shot through the heart—died instantaneously.”
“No! No!” Elinor moaned, attempting to rush forward again.
“Are you his wife?” the doctor inquired more gently.
Elinor shook her head, but sobs wracked her.
“Oh—well—it is my duty to inform the authorities. Of course, you know no one must leave before their arrival?” He rose from beside the body.
Howard reached for the only friendly hand outheld to him and gripped it.
“Martin,” he asked, “will you try to locate my father? Call the club, and if he isn’t there, try our home. If you get him, give him an idea of what had happened, and ask him to come to me.”
“I’ll do all that I can,” Teddy assured him, and hurried out to the telephone.
He was fortunate in locating Hugh Benton at the Club, catching him just as he was leaving for home. In a very few moments, he gave him a brief outline of the tragic affair.
“I—I’ll be over at once,” said the father in a choked voice. The catastrophe stunned him. He could barely make himself understood, but he added, as assurance for Howard: “I’m going to try to reach my attorney and have him go with me.”
But it was an old and broken man who hung up the telephone and clung to the table for support as he swayed, fighting for courage to carry him through the ordeal he was called on to face—fighting for immediate strength to telephone the man on whom he must rely for present aid.
Howard was pacing nervously up and down, when his father and John Hammond, the celebrated attorney, arrived at the scene of the tragedy. He went to his father manfully.
“I’m terribly sorry, Dad, to have caused this trouble,” he apologized, “but I—I couldn’t help it. The revolver was discharged accidentally. He—he was a coward to the end—he couldn’t even—fight fair.”
“Tell me the entire thing, Howard; just what brought you here, and how it happened.” Mr. Hammond said quietly.
Howard told it all as clearly as he could remember. Once or twice the lawyer interrupted him to ask a question, or to have him make some point a little more definite. At the conclusion, he turned to Hugh.
“This looks like a simple case of self-defense, Benton,” he said, and his tone and off-hand manner gave rising hope to father and son. “The boy came here to protect his sister’s good name—a fight ensued, Druid pulled his revolver—there are witnesses enough here to attest that,” looking about at the sadly morose lot who so short a time before had been merry-makers. “The boy secured possession of it—it was discharged accidentally, or at the worst, discharged in self-defense.”
“Yes—but think of the scandal—” Hugh was not altogether appeased.
“That is something we cannot help,” the lawyer replied as his jaws snapped shut. “Be grateful to think you can save the boy! There are a certain amount of preliminaries necessary to go through, and then he can go home with you. Just a moment, before we go—I want to speak to these men,” indicating a couple of officers and detectives who had entered the room.
“I must arrange to send Elinor home.” Hugh mentioned his daughter for the first time, although the sight of her, when he had come into the room had almost taken the breath from his body.
It was a brilliant commentary on Hugh Benton’s attitude of mind that, as he sat before the telephone at this crisis in his life, maneuvering to save both son and daughter as well as to drown out as much as possible of the scandal that must ensue, that not even for one moment did he think of calling his wife to his aid. As he sat there nervously jangling the hook up and down, it was Geraldine DeLacy who was going through his mind. Geraldine! She loved him! She would come to him—would help him through. Only for a moment did the vision of Marjorie cross his mind, and then he dismissed her with a queer wry smile. In this, his time of trouble, he wanted Geraldine. To the woman he loved, and to her only, would he entrust his foolish daughter.
The sleeping butler at the Thurston home was not easily roused to answer the telephone. Even then, Benton had a difficult time in persuading him his business was of the most vital importance, and that he must awaken Mrs. DeLacy.
It seemed ages before a sleepy voice answered him. “Why—Hugh! What on earth do you mean at this hour in the morning. Why——”
“Geraldine, aterriblething has happened!” The man’s voice trembled with earnestness. “I cannot tell you over the ’phone,” he went on, “but I want you to dress as quickly as you can, jump in a taxi and come here at once.” He gave her the address of the apartment.
“What place is that—and what do you want me for—what has happened?” she inquired in one breath.
“I can’t go into details now—all I can tell you is that Howard has killed—Templeton Druid. Don’t ask any questions—just come to me, dear—I need you.” His voice quivered more unmistakably.
“Great heavens!” For once Geraldine was all but speechless as she gasped. “I—I’ll come to you at once, dear.”
She never remembered how she dressed, ordered the taxi, or hurried to the apartment. She knew she accomplished it all in a remarkably short space of time, because Hugh met her at the door and said gratefully:
“You certainly came quickly, dear—thank you so much.” He told her as rapidly as possible just what had transpired. “And now,” he urged, “I want you to take Elinor home. There wasn’t anyone here I felt I could entrust her to. She is in a frightfully hysterical condition and should be put to bed at once.”
“I shall be glad to take her, dear, and oh—you don’t know how I am suffering with you. Shall I take Elinor home with me—or——”
“No, no—take her to her own home. My lawyer will have to talk with her to-morrow, and besides,” he continued, “she may want her—mother.”
“Don’t you think Marjorie will resent my entering her home?”
“Marjorie has doubtless been in bed for hours—there is no need to awaken her. She will have to be told everything in the morning, but that is time enough.”
“I will do just as you wish, my dear. My only desire is to serve you, as you know. Nothing else matters,” and she patted his arm lovingly.
She went to Elinor and put her arms protectingly about her.
“Oh—oh—Geraldine!” Elinor began sobbing anew. “What are you doing here? Do you know what has happened? Oh—I just want to die—I want to die!”
“There, there, darling,” Geraldine soothed, helping her on with her wrap she had brought. “I am going to take you home. You can tell me everything in the taxi. You must pull yourself together, dear, and be brave.”
“How can I be—brave—when—when—my heart is breaking! Just—just think! A little while ago, I—I was in his arms—and—and—now—I shall-nev-er—see him again!”
“Come, dear, we will go now. Your father is anxious for you to go home.” And Geraldine led her to the door, where Hugh joined them.
Elinor fell into his arms. “Daddy! Daddy!” she cried, heart-brokeningly. “What shall I do? I—I can’t stand this.”
Hugh held her closely in his arms as he tenderly murmured: “Never mind, darling, your Daddy will always stand by you—no—no matter what happens. Mrs. DeLacy will take you home. Howard and I will have to wait awhile, but we’ll follow you.”
“Howard!” Elinor turned like a tigress. “He is to blame for all this—I hate him! Do you understand? I hate him! And I hope he is made to suffer for his crime!”
Geraldine DeLacy put her arm protectingly about the girl whose whole body shook with the fury and fervor of the hate with which she denounced the brother who had killed the man she believed she loved. Hugh Benton’s surprised shocked countenance gave proof of his little understanding of the side of his daughter’s character she was showing. But Geraldine only drew her more closely into protecting arms.
“Come with me, darling,” she soothed. “You’re all unnerved.” She shook her head protestingly at Hugh Benton as his mouth opened to speak. Without a word, he helped the woman and girl into the waiting cab and turned back toward the apartment entrance. But his head hung low as he walked, and there was a sense of unrealness, a sense of bewilderment, wonder, annoyance at the complexity of life as he went slowly back to the son who had sought only to do as his conscience bade.
CHAPTER XV
Until the muffled bells of the cathedral clock in the hall slowly and sweetly chimed out the mid-night hour, Marjorie Benton had sat in front of the fire in the library where Griggs had left her—waiting. She had no idea when Howard would come in, but she expected Elinor almost any minute, as she had only gone to the Thurstons for dinner and could not remain away much longer.
To Marjorie, whose every nerve was keyed to a snapping tension, the evening had seemed endless. Her eyes were riveted upon the hands of the clock. At twelve-thirty, she bounded from her seat, and fairly flew to the telephone, unable to curb her patience a second longer.
Central was obliged to ring a number of times before the Thurston number answered.
“What seems to be the trouble?” Marjorie demanded irritably. “That number should answer at once.”
“I am ringing them, Madam,” Central replied mechanically.
“Such service. You never can get a number when you want one,” Marjorie muttered irritably as she shook the hook.
“They do not answer,” the operator drawled.
“But I tell you they do answer! They must answer,” Marjorie insisted. “Why, they’re having——”
“There’s your party,” Central interrupted. “Go ahead.”
“Oh—hello—I’d like to speak to Miss Benton, please.”
“There’s no one here by that name,” came the answer curtly. “You must have the wrong number.”
“Is this Mrs. Horace Thurston’s residence?”
“Yes, Madame—but there isn’t anyone here by the name of Benton. If it’s Hugh Benton’s home you wish, I can give you the number. It——”
“No—this is the number I wish. Kindly call Mrs. Thurston to the ’phone.”
“Mrs. and Mr. Thurston are both in Atlantic City—until to-morrow.”
Marjorie felt the ground giving way beneath her feet. She clutched at the desk for support as she inquired:
“Where is Miss Thurston?”
“In bed, Madame. At least, I suppose she is. She returned home about twelve o’clock and went straight to her room. Do you wish me to call her?”
“No—no—it will not be necessary. I—I made a mistake—that is all. Somehow I was under the impression that Miss Thurston was entertaining at dinner this evening, but I realize now that it was—someone else.”
“Yes, Madame. That must be it,” the butler agreed. “Because Miss Thurston went out to dinner and the theater with a gentleman this evening.”
“Thank you—I—I’m sorry to have disturbed you at this hour.”
“That’s all right, Madame. Do you care to leave your name for Mrs. Thurston?”
“Oh, no—I—I’ll call Mrs. Thurston myself—to-morrow. Good-night,” she faltered as she hung up the receiver and stood as one petrified, staring into space.
What new horror was about to confront her? Elinor had deliberately deceived her, and perhaps this had not been the first time. Where could she have gone? What did it all mean?
Again she began to pace the floor. Her own trouble was almost blotted from her mind as this new fear clutched at her heart. Where was Elinor? Where was she? Over and over again she asked herself the question as she traveled back and forth between the window and the farthest book-lined wall.
Twice the faithful Griggs attempted to speak to her, but she waved him back frantically, refusing to listen. As long as she lived, this night would leave its mark upon her. She had passed hours of unspeakable suffering and torture.
At four o’clock, with the faint coming of dawn, Griggs placed another log on the fire which he had kept burning all night, and then confronted Marjorie determinedly with the assurance of an old and trusted servant.
“Mrs. Benton, won’t you please go to bed! It’s four o’clock, and you must be worn out! Pardon the liberty of an old servant, but——”
“Four o’clock—four o’clock—” Marjorie kept wringing her hands despairingly, “and not one of them home yet! God! What can have happened!”
“Nothing has happened, ma’am! Miss Elinor and Mr. Howard are most likely with Mr. Benton at some party or dance,” Griggs endeavored to console her.
“Four o’clock,” she kept repeating. “Why, they couldn’t remain anywhere as late as that.”
“Indeed, they’ve come in late many times, Mrs. Benton; only you have been asleep in your own room and didn’t know it.”
“As late as this?”
“Well—no—not quite as late—but I’m sure there’s no reason for you to worry. Come to your room—please—and let me bring you some coffee.”
“Thanks, Griggs,” Marjorie replied gratefully. “You’re very kind, and I appreciate your remaining up with me like this more than I can tell you, but I couldn’t leave here—I must wait.”
“Mrs. Benton, I’ll call you the minute anyone comes. It won’t do any good for you to wear yourself——”
The sound of a machine coming up the driveway cut short further arguments. Griggs rushed to the window.
“Here’s a cab now, Ma’am,” he said, hastening to open the door.
“At last! At last!” Marjorie held her hand over her heart. “Thank God—they’ve come!”
She stood with bated breath, facing the door, expecting she knew not—what. But whatever else it might have been that unfolded itself before Marjorie Benton’s hot worried eyes, it could not have stabbed her as what she did see. An icy hand clutched her heart. The room swam about her. She tried to move forward with a cry, but stood rooted to the spot. For there, standing on the threshold was her own daughter, her baby, Elinor—hair hanging in wild disarray, white-faced, trembling, clothing disarranged, while moans and sobs issued from her distorted pale lips. Holding her up, guiding her tottering footsteps, her arms possessively, protectingly around Marjorie Benton’s daughter was the one woman in the world whom she hated with a deadly hatred, the woman who had taken from her the love of her own husband—Geraldine DeLacy.
The mother’s breath came with a quick intake as her arms went quiveringly out toward the girl.
“Elinor!” the cry came in a pitiful wail.
“Oh, mother! Mother!” Elinor sobbed brokenly, as she wrenched herself from Geraldine’s arms and tottered toward her mother. Marjorie caught her as she fell. She held her closely as she had held her as a baby.
“What is it, dear?” she murmured tenderly. Mother instinct told her it was no time for reproaches, but a time for soothing. “What has happened? Try to control yourself and tell me.”
“Oh—I—I can’t! I can’t!” Elinor moaned. “It’s so terrible!”
Trembling from head to foot Marjorie, holding Elinor closely to her, turned to Geraldine. “Perhaps, Mrs. DeLacy, you will kindly tell me—what this all means?” she asked.
“I’m very sorry, Mrs. Benton,” Geraldine replied gravely, “but a terrible thing has happened. I—I scarcely know how to tell you.”
Marjorie’s eyes flashed fire. “Nothing can be more terrible than this dreadful suspense! You must tell me at once!” she commanded.
“Very well, but I want you to believe me, Mrs. Benton, when I tell you that it grieves me greatly to be the bearer of this news.” Geraldine’s attempt at friendly conciliation passed by the distracted mother.
“Go on—please!” she ordered, with set lips.
“This evening,” Geraldine began, “Templeton Druid had a dinner party in his rooms after the show——”
“Who is Templeton Druid?” Marjorie interrupted.
“Templeton Druid was,” she laid stress upon the word, a stress unnoticed by Marjorie, although Elinor shivered in her mother’s clasp, “an actor—the most popular leading man on Broadway, and a friend of Elinor’s and Howard’s. Elinor knew you would never consent to her going to the party, so she told you she was going to the Thurstons’.”
“I—I know,” Marjorie murmured. “I telephoned the Thurstons at twelve-thirty.” She closed her eyes as if to shut out the memory of the shock she had received.
“She spent the early part of the evening,” Geraldine continued, “with Rosebud Greeley, and then went to Mr. Druid’s apartment.”
“Oh, my dear! My dear!” Marjorie wailed. “Go on, please, Mrs. DeLacy.”
“Howard happened to know where Elinor was going, and disapproved of it. He had spent the evening with Nell Thurston, and after seeing her home, went downtown to the club, where he imbibed rather freely with some of the boys. He happened to overhear a conversation concerning Elinor and Druid, which enraged him past endurance. He jumped in a taxi and went directly to Druid’s apartment——”
“Oh—mother—mother—” Elinor clutched her wildly. “I can’t bear it. Why—why——”
“Hush, darling,” Marjorie patted her head, “I must hear the rest.”
“When Howard arrived,” went on Mrs. DeLacy as though repeating a carefully rehearsed lesson, “a wild party was on, which only went toward confirming the things he had heard. A furious scene followed—and a—a fist battle. In the midst of which Druid pulled a revolver out of his pocket—Howard managed to secure it. There was a shot and Druid fell to the floor!” Geraldine dramatically turned her eyes as she reached her climax as though too tender-hearted to witness the mother’s despair. But underneath the lids that veiled her eyes, there was gloating.
“Oh—No! No!” Marjorie felt the iron hand closing tighter around her heart. It was crushing it. “He didn’t—kill—him?”
“Instantly!”
The monosyllabic reply was like the closing of life’s chapter to the mother who heard it. The world seemed far away. She could not think—could not breathe to recognize the familiar action. That iron hand was closing and unclosing, squeezing from her heart but icy drops. Vaguely she could feel her arms about her daughter while her mind wandered to the son—could feel Elinor clutching her hands, her arms,—could hear her wailing.
“Oh, mother! Mother! I loved him so! I loved him! Oh, what shall I do!”
The iron hand held a dagger. It was draining her life blood. She felt it leaving her face, her limbs. She felt the gray pallor of her cheeks. Limply she sank down into the deep chair beside her (and even in her despair there came a queer flash of memory over her that it was Hugh’s chair) as she stared at the bearer of the news. Her comprehension was unable to cope with its suddenness.
Elinor, clinging helplessly to her mother, fell on her knees, burying her head in her lap.
“I—I can’t realize it!” Marjorie felt her lips framing the words, but to her own ears they were inaudible. “It is all—so horrible.”
“I know, Mrs. Benton.” Outwardly, Geraldine was all sympathy. “But you must face this thing as bravely as you can, for Mr. Benton’s sake——”
Marjorie bit her lips so hard she drew the blood in two places. “Where—where is Howard now?” she demanded.
“They ’phoned the club and managed to locate Mr. Benton. He called his attorney. There are certain arrangements to be made and then he will bring Howard home.”
In her dazed consciousness it had already occurred to Marjorie to wonder where Hugh was, and she had had an added pang when she had realized what all this would mean to him. She would so have tried to spare him.
So he already knew! And he had not even let her know, come to her, or sent to her in his trouble. No—instead it had been this—this other woman he had— Bitterness welled to take the place of pity. And that bitterness swelled her heart till she felt it had reached the bursting point.
To think that her husband had dared to select that woman to bring Elinor home! She should have been sent for! Wasn’t she still his wife, and Elinor’s mother? Had Hugh thrown her into the dust and trampled upon her, he could not have humiliated her more than by sending this, to her, abominable creature as the conveyer of this appalling news. The strangeness of it all began to dawn upon her. How had Mrs. DeLacy been available at such an hour? Was Hugh in her company at the time? Her lips curled slightly as she asked: “Were you at that party, Mrs. DeLacy?”
Geraldine drew herself haughtily erect. “I? Certainly not!” she cried indignantly. “Why do you ask?”
“Because I fail to understand your connection in the affair,” replied the wife coldly. “What are you doing here? How do you come to bring Elinor home?”
“Mr. Benton telephoned to me,” Geraldine flushed angrily as she faced Marjorie Benton’s cold, accusing eyes. “He knew that he could place every confidence in me—and asked me as a special favor to him, to bring Elinor home——”
“Iunderstand.” Marjorie spoke simply, but with finality. “Thank you—and good-night.”
“I should like to remain if you don’t mind,” Geraldine strolled impertinently toward the davenport, adding, “until Mr. Benton and Howard come.”
“Don’t you think it indelicate for you to attempt to intrude, Mrs. DeLacy? This is a time when the family desire to be alone.”
“I realize that,” Geraldine smiled serenely. “But don’t you see, when one is such a trusted friend, I really feel as if I were one of the family.”
Marjorie Benton had felt before that she had stood all that could be imposed on human nature. But now she found that it had been only a beginning. The cold, unadulterated nerve of the woman who assumed such prerogatives so casually, and at such a time, was beyond anything she could have dreamed. No longer was she physically weak. A great power was given to her. Gently she put aside her daughter’s clinging hands and rose to her feet with a firmness born of indignation too great for words.
“Your assumption is a bit previous,” she remarked icily. “You have wrought destruction enough in this home for the present. I am sorry, but I must deny you the pleasure of remaining longer.”
“Oh, very well!” Geraldine shrugged her shoulders meaningly, as she turned toward the door. “I regret exceedingly that you will not accept my well-meant offer of friendship. If you should need me any time, Elinor,” she called back, “you know where to find me—good-night.”
Marjorie stood still as a statue, waiting until she heard the door close after Mrs. DeLacy. Then she resumed her chair, pulled a low stool up beside her and tenderly seated Elinor upon it.
“Darling little girl,” she murmured soothingly, gently caressing the disordered hair which futile hands sought to arrange. “Come, tell mother everything. I—I’m not angry, dear—my heart is over-flowing with love and sympathy for you, and I want to help you!”
One upward glance the girl gave her mother. She shook her head sadly.
“Your love and your desire to help me, mother, have come too late.”
Marjorie caught her breath sharply.
“Oh, please! Please, dear, don’t say that!”
“You’ve kept me away from you so long,” Elinor continued apathetically, plaintively. “I have never been able to confide in you. The wonderful comradeship I’ve seen between other girls and their mothers—never existed between us. Your continual fault finding with everything I did forced me to be untruthful, and to deceive you.”
“I meant it all for your good, dear!” Marjorie’s voice vibrated with emotion. “Youwillbelieve me—you must!—when I tell you my only desire was for your happiness!”
“AndHoward!” Elinor’s voice was bitter in its hysterical condemnation. “What right had he to judge anyone? Templeton would have married me, and now—my life is wrecked.”
“You are not in the condition to realize anything now. Perhaps later you will be able to view all this in a different light. Your brother must love you very——”
“Love me!” Elinor screamed wildly. “He has a great way of showing it, when he robs me of all the happiness life held for me! Oh—I hate him! Even if he is my brother, I——”
“Oh—hush, dear, hush,” Marjorie placed her hand across Elinor’s mouth, “you mustn’t talk that way.”
“I—I don’t know what I’m going to do, mother! I’m almost crazy! I’m so frightened, and I don’t know where to turn!” The girl’s passion subsided into a wail of self-pity. She sobbed and buried her head in Marjorie’s lap again.
A light of dawning hope slowly welled up in the woman’s anguished eyes.
“Turn to your mother, darling,” she pleaded, lovingly, tenderly, “the one who will never fail you! Come—I’m going to take you upstairs and put you to bed, just as I did when you were my little baby—and I shall sit beside you and hold your hand, dear, until you fall asleep.”
Elinor arose wearily and stood coldly unresponsive to her mother’s declarations of love and devotion. She submitted passively to the tender embrace as she was led toward the hall.
The slamming of the front door caused them both to start violently. Howard, wanly pale and trembling, came toward them. Marjorie’s arms went out to him.
“Oh—Howard—my boy, I—I——”
“Please, mother!” Howard twisted his fingers and pulled at his collar. “Don’t you start in on me—I’m a wreck, and my nerves are all shot to pieces now! Dad hasn’t stopped talking for a moment all the way home—I justcan’tstand much more!” He walked unsteadily to the mantle and stood, leaning his head upon it.
Elinor dropped back to the large chair her mother had recently occupied, and curled up in it, her feet under her, her head buried in her arms.
In a few quick steps, the mother crossed the room to her son’s side. Her arm went protectingly about his bowed, weary shoulders.
“Oh, my dear, my dear!” and there was a world of sympathy and love in the vibrating voice, “I’m not going to upbraid you! I just want to tell you that——”
A slight sound at the door made her turn to glance over her shoulder. Hugh Benton stood there, stern and relentless. His eyes roved from the stricken girl huddled in her chair to rest on the bowed head of his son and the mother who stood beside him, her attitude one of soothing.
Like a cold accusing judge he stood towering there. Slowly his hand came up into a sweeping gesture to include the scene. Then the hand was pointed relentlessly, unforgivingly, at the suffering mother. When he spoke his voice was harsh, repelling.
“Well, Marjorie!” he bit off his words, “I trust you’re satisfied!”